


Instructions (Where One Starts From)

by danahid



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Spoilers, Bechdel Test Pass, F/M, Gen, It's All Connected, M/M, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Quote: I'm with you 'til the end of the line, Quote: Not without you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:34:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3957796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danahid/pseuds/danahid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve’s life is not a fairy tale. Even after Ultron happens.<br/><i>A story that takes place in the interstices of AOU, tries to make sense of those character- and plot-lines, and was written mostly because I wondered why Sam wasn’t at Tony’s after-party. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

_“You find a place in Brooklyn yet?”_  
_“I don’t think I can afford a place in Brooklyn.”_  
_“Well, home is home, you know?”_

* * *

 

#####  _1\. Do not lose hope — what you seek will be found._

“You okay, man?” Sam asked again. “You look— You don’t need me to tell you how you look.” Sam gestured with his beer bottle and raised his eyebrows; any of the partygoers looking over at them would think he was telling a joke. He wasn’t, though, and Steve knew it.

Steve shrugged. He dragged a smile up from somewhere, drank his beer, and thought about what Sam said before, about Brooklyn and about home. Maybe he wasn’t looking in the right places; he could ask his real estate agent to widen the area. He could consider other parts of New York, not just Brooklyn. Maybe even Manhattan, not that that would help on the affordability front. He could—

Sam set down his beer bottle with a decisive clink. He was frowning, Steve noticed; his eyes were very serious. “You know the last thing I want to do is tell you what to do, but.”

“But you’re going to.” Steve shook his head; it was fine. Sam had more than earned the right to tell him whatever he wanted to tell him whenever he wanted to. Steve could never repay Sam’s generosity in a million years. Steve would always listen; it was the least he could do.

“Look, Steve, you can’t keep—” Sam broke off when his phone buzzed. He glanced at Steve — who nodded that it was fine, of course it was — before digging his phone out of his pocket to read the incoming message. “Huh,” he said then read it again. “Funny thing. Remember those cold leads I was talking about? Seems like one of those cold leads just got hot. Got a text from a friend at the VA in DC. Said someone matching our missing person was at tonight’s drop-in. Said he signed in, left contact info.” Sam stared down at his phone. “Holy shit.”

Steve set his beer bottle down carefully on the edge of the pool table. His hands were shaking. Natasha had predicted this, had warned Steve at Nick’s false grave that maybe he didn’t want to pull on that thread and then texted later to say that maybe all they had to do was wait for the old guy to come home. She had added a smiley face, and she’d been right, and Sam was right, and Steve was so, so grateful for his friends. His hands were still shaking.

Sam stepped back from the pool table, but not before he’d noticed Steve’s shaking hands, and Steve knew what he was going to say before he said it. “Let me handle this,” Sam said, eyes full of kindness. “You’ve got to stay here, watch your team’s back. I’ve got a bit of experience in this area. Not a lot about this particular situation, who are we kidding, but more than you. I got this.” He was already turning to go. “Tell Stark thanks for me?”

“Of course,” Steve said, heart in his throat, then inadequately: “Thank you, Sam.” He watched Sam duck out of the party, and thought again that he could never repay Sam in a million years.

#####  _2\. If an eagle gives you a feather, keep it safe._

“Where’s Wilson off to, with his tail on fire?” Colonel Rhodes asked, and Steve stiffened, caught between two competing impulses: his startle reflex and his instinct to salute a superior officer. “Tony wanted everyone to stay after the party.”

Steve dredged up another smile and explained that Sam had been called away to the VA; it was the truth, at least.

“He’s a good guy,” Colonel Rhodes said, raising his glass.

“He is,” Steve agreed, and then didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t really know Colonel Rhodes. He admired him, was more than a little in awe of him, with his engineering degree from MIT and his distinguished career in the Air Force and his President-saving heroics and his preternatural ability to wrangle Tony Stark. But when it came down to it, Steve didn’t really know how to talk to Colonel Rhodes. He didn’t have the best track record with superior officers, as Phillips and Fury and Peggy could attest, and even if he couldn’t afford a place there these days, he still felt like that tongue-tied, skinny kid from Brooklyn deep down—

“I can hear you thinking from here, Cap,” Colonel Rhodes said with a laugh. “You can start by calling me Rhodey. Everyone else does, no thanks to Tony.” 

And that was something else to admire: Rhodey’s seemingly effortless ability to read a situation and set someone at ease. It was something Bucky had been able to do, Steve remembered with sharp pain in his chest. The gift of the gab, his ma called it. It was a gift all right. Steve and Tony were lucky sons of bitches in their choice of best friends. Even if Steve’s best friend was more a ghost than a person these days—

“How are you holding up, Steve?” Rhodey was saying. “Tony’s not driving you crazier than usual, is he? I can have a talk with him if you need me to. Just say the word.”

Steve laughed. “Tony’s Tony. He’s fine—” he paused, remembering the strange, wild light in Tony’s eyes after they secured the scepter— “He’s tired, I think, and missing Pepper.”

Rhodey raised his glass again. “Don’t we all?” 

Steve smiled and nodded. Yes, they all missed Pepper. She was an oasis of calm in the midst of Tony’s chaos. The Tower didn’t feel the same without her there, running Stark Industries with fearsome efficiency and still finding time to smooth over Tony’s rough edges in between board meetings. Steve didn’t know where Pepper was tonight but he knew she was busy. He knew a little about what Pepper had gone through the year before, guessed how hard-won her calm was, and he was as in awe of her as he was of Rhodey. He’d always had a soft spot for strong women (his ma set him on that path a very long time ago). Tony really was a lucky son of a bitch.

“Yeah, Tony’s a lucky guy,” Rhodey said, as if Steve had spoken out loud. “He’s lucky to have her.”

Steve hummed in agreement and sipped his beer. The conversation flowed easily after that, now that the ice was broken, and Steve was sorry when Rhodey excused himself to find a willing non-superhero audience: apparently the one thing Rhodey really wanted to do before the end of the party was get normal-people reactions to his latest War Machine story.

Steve settled back against the wall after Rhodey left, turning their conversation over in his mind. It was actually how Rhodey talked about Tony that stuck with Steve the most. Rhodey’s protective, almost exasperated affection for his best friend reminded Steve of Bucky. But then, most things reminded him of Bucky. Dirty dishes in the sink and the smell of hair pomade reminded him of Bucky. A certain way of walking, certain shades of blue, countless everyday things that used to mean home reminded him of Bucky. Steve missed him. It was like a hollowing loneliness, a throbbing ache behind his ribs that never went away—

Yes, Tony was a lucky guy, and not just because he had Pepper. He had Rhodey too, right there, whenever he needed him, even when he thought he didn’t need him. Tony Stark was one lucky son of a bitch.

#####  _3\. Hearts can be well-hidden._

But Steve was lucky too; he had to keep remembering that. He had his team, and he had friends now, good friends. Like Natasha, who didn’t trust easily, who protected herself with dry wit like barbed wire. During and after the Triskelian situation, Natasha had proved herself his friend beyond a doubt. 

Steve had only caught a glimpse of Natasha at the beginning of the party. He looked for her after Rhodey wandered off to mingle, and found her behind the bar, mixing drinks for Doctor Banner. She was leaning over the bar toward Bruce, leaning forward on her elbows, glancing up at him from under her lashes. Steve didn’t understand where it was coming from, Nat’s flirtation with Bruce. He figured it started after she left DC, when she was taking time to rebuild her covers in the wake of dumping SHIELD’s secrets. Maybe she’d met up with Bruce somewhere in those months when Steve and Sam were chasing cold leads across the world? Steve didn’t know, and he’d been so consumed by his search for Bucky that he hadn’t realized he should ask before now.

Steve watched Natasha smile at something Bruce said. He couldn’t read their body language from where he was standing; their gestures were too small, too subtle. He couldn’t get past how tentative and awkward it seemed, though. They weren’t connecting yet, but Nat really wanted them to. Steve had never seen that look on her face before, and it stunned him a little. This was Natasha Romanoff opening herself up to another person; this was Natasha Romanoff wanting something desperately. Steve wanted Nat to get what she wanted. She was his friend. She’d put herself on the line for him, had gone through hell after the congressional hearings, had blown up her life because it was the right thing to do. She was one of the bravest, kindest people he had ever met in his very long life, and if she wanted this thing with Bruce to work out, then Steve wanted that too.

As Steve made his way over to the bar, he tried to think of something he could say, something he could tell Bruce that would help move things forward the way Natasha clearly wanted. It would probably come out wrong because he wasn’t blessed with the gift of the gab like Rhodey or Bucky, but he had to try. Because Natasha was his friend, and he knew how to be a friend. He’d been taught how by the best friend anyone could ever have. He would try to help; it was what Bucky would have done.

 

#####  _4\. Trust the wolves, but do not tell them where you are going._

And then Ultron happened.

Afterward, when he wasn’t stopping himself from wringing Tony’s neck, Steve had to stop himself from worrying about everyone else: about Bruce who had hulked-out and gone off who-knows-where, about Natasha who was hurting and trying to hide it, about Clint who just wanted to go home to his family, about Wanda who was grieving and lost, about Sam who hadn’t checked in yet. (Steve tried never to let himself worry about Bucky; he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself if he got started. He had to keep everything he felt for Bucky locked up tight inside or it would overwhelm him. He couldn’t—) He had things to do, a team to lead.

So Steve soldiered on; it was what he was good at. And part of soldiering on meant trying to mend fences with Stark.

They had said a lot of harsh things in Tony’s lab. Steve had even flung his shield at Tony, or at least at Tony’s equipment. Whenever he remembered their confrontation, Steve felt his shoulders tensing up, his fists clenching at his side. Steve had no idea why Tony (and Bruce) thought creating Ultron was a good idea. He had perfect recall: he knew what Tony said about why, but still he couldn’t understand it. And then they used JARVIS to create the Vision from Helen Cho’s work, as if doubling down would make it better, and the Vision did turn out to be better, turned out to be critical in their fight against Ultron, but what if he hadn’t turned out to be on their side? Steve just didn’t understand it. 

Sometimes it felt like he and Tony were always misunderstanding each other. When they weren’t exactly on the same page about something, like their views on Thor’s hammer, they were at loggerheads. It bothered Steve that the things they needed to agree on the most were the things they couldn’t seem to agree on at all. It was like they couldn’t find common ground because they were always competing with each other, as they had at Clint’s farm with that stupid log-cutting contest. Was it that they were jockeying for position, like rivals for Howard’s favor, even if Howard was long gone?

Steve didn’t know, and it didn’t help that he was still ashamed of what a jackass he’d been to Tony when he first met him. In his own defense: Tony had looked startlingly like Howard, and Steve had very mixed feelings about Howard and his damn fondue. Steve knew now that Tony had gone through a lot in his life, because of Howard and even before Afghanistan, and Steve knew Tony had worked hard to become the man he was, a man willing to sacrifice himself to save millions of strangers. When he forced himself to be objective about it, Steve could admit that he admired the man Tony was now. He admired Tony’s genius, admired his ingenuity, admired his selflessness. Steve respected Tony, even if sometimes it seemed like Tony was the little brother Steve had never wanted. Steve wanted to trust Tony. 

But then Ultron happened, and then Vision, and after everything, Steve was finding it hard to trust Tony, and that left him with a persistent feeling of unease.

#####  _5\. Dragons have one soft spot, somewhere, always._

Steve didn’t let that uneasy feeling get in the way of doing what he thought was right, though, and he didn’t give up trying to mend fences with Tony. In fact, he worked harder at it. The whole time Tony was staying with them upstate helping to set up the New Avengers Facility, Steve kept trying to mend those damn fences, until eventually Natasha started teasing him about making lovey-dovey eyes at Iron Man.

Steve rolled his eyes at her and made a point of walking Tony out to his car on his last day. Their conversation was easy and comfortable, and Steve regretted with a sudden fierceness that it couldn’t always be like this between them. He watched Tony drive off at his usual ridiculous speed and figured it was something they would have to work towards.

#####  _6\. When you come back, return the way you came._

Steve took the long way back after seeing Tony off. He hadn’t thought about what home meant to him until he heard his own words come out of his mouth. He’d told Tony that he thought the person he’d been, the person who wanted a home and a family, had gone into the ice 75 years ago, and someone else had come out, and it was amazing how true those words felt. It felt like there was nothing truer in the world. 

Steve was still thinking about home when he ran into Natasha and Maria. They were in the hallway between conference rooms, discussing training requirements for the new team. Steve nodded politely, intending to slip past, but Nat held out a hand to pull him into their conversation.

“Maria and I can’t agree on the PT requirements for the team, Steve. We’ve been going back and forth. Wanna weigh in?”

Steve forced himself to stop. He had a Skype meeting scheduled with Sam, an update on their missing-person search. He told himself that Sam could wait, that his news about Bucky could wait. Steve could wait. He could— He took a deep breath and turned to Nat and Maria. “You know, it would probably be better if I heard what both of you are thinking first.”

Maria settled back on her heels, a pleased look in her eyes. Natasha tilted her head and said, “Nick believes that we should follow SHIELD protocols, but Maria thinks we need to take the individuals and their abilities into account, and adjust the protocols to fit the new team.”

“That _is_ what I think we should do,” Maria said firmly, nodding. “ _You_ think it’s what we should do too, Nat.”

Steve nodded slowly. He liked Maria; he always had. She was smart and brave and _sensible._ Nick had assigned her to him when he first came out of the ice, and she had been the first person in this new time to talk to him as a _person,_ not a frozen, obsolete comic-book hero. Like Sam and Natasha, Maria had proved her worth again and again. She was one of his first and best friends, and he valued her opinion. He liked seeing her step out from Nick Fury’s shadow.

“I think we have the opportunity to do things right here, be what SHIELD was supposed to be, like you said in Sokovia, Steve,” Maria was saying. “We’d be making a mistake not to tailor how we do things to what we have to work with.”

“What you’re saying makes sense, Maria,” Natasha said. “I’m not disagreeing. But we can’t—“

Steve frowned at that ‘can’t.’ It wasn’t a word Natasha used often; he actually couldn’t remember the last time she’d used it. He knew she’d been shaken badly by Wanda’s vision, that she’d been hurt by Bruce’s leaving, that she was still working through SHIELD fallout. But Steve wasn’t just Natasha’s friend; he was also her team leader, and if they were going to do this right, he needed the Natasha Romanoff who was strong and confident and shrugged nonchalantly when she assured him and Sam that it wouldn’t be a problem to break into Fort Meade and retrieve locked-down and classified military equipment. He needed _that_ Natasha. Steve raised his eyebrows at her. “‘Can’t’? Really, Nat?”

Natasha tilted her head again, her eyes searching. Her lips twitched, she nodded, and that was all they needed to say. “Fine, Rogers,” she said briskly, already moving on. “Let’s talk about what we’ve got.” 

Maria grinned at Steve. Steve grinned back, and told himself that this was what he needed to be doing right now: leading his team. Sam and Bucky would understand.

#####  _7\. Trust your heart, and trust your story._

Would Bucky understand, though? Steve was pretty sure even he didn’t understand why he’d agreed to take a break from his search for Bucky. Six months ago, Sam played the counselor card and told him that he need to take a break before something else broke, and Steve managed two days rattling around on his own before he was staying up all hours again to dig through HYDRA files for leads on where Bucky might have gone to ground. He was about to call Sam to tell him that he was done with his break, that he was ready to get back on the road, when Natasha called. She said she needed help, that the Avengers needed help, that Loki’s scepter was missing. Steve could never say no to Natasha, especially for a serious request like a powerful alien artifact going missing and probably straight into HYDRA hands, and it turned out that he couldn’t get a hold of Sam anyway. Six months and the Ultron debacle later, here he was.

The New Avengers Facility wasn’t home, no matter what he’d said to Tony. But it was a place he could stay for now, where he could make a difference. 

So Steve threw himself into his work. He met with Maria and Natasha to plan the New Avengers Initiative, and he coordinated with them to begin training the new team. He kept the other Avengers in the loop, except for Bruce who remained unreachable. Whenever Thor was on Earth, he joined them at the Facility, and Steve worked out with him, glad to have someone of similar strength to test himself against. Together, they continued to hone their techniques for combining the hammer and shield in a fight. Surrounded by responsibilities and work and friends, Steve kept busy. 

Steve was working long hours, but he still found time for regular check-in calls with Sam. It was after another Skype call, in which Sam had mentioned his arrival date at the Facility (Steve hid his shaking hands from the laptop camera), and Steve had pushed hard to speak with Bucky — he just wanted to see him, to hear his voice — that Sam told him in no uncertain terms that he needed to give Bucky space, that Bucky was getting better but his recovery was still incredibly fragile, that Steve needed to think hard about his expectations for how this was going to go.

Steve couldn’t remember how the call ended. He walked out of his office and somehow ended up in an empty conference room, staring fixedly at the wall. He felt lost and tired and alone and _small,_ smaller even than he’d been before the war. Sam was right (Sam was pretty much always right). Steve needed to deal with his issues before he could talk to Bucky. He had to— But sometimes he couldn’t help it. Whenever he remembered what had happened to Bucky, to the best guy he’d ever known, it cracked his heart clean through. He couldn’t stop thinking about it once he started, couldn’t stop remembering all those horrific details in that file Natasha gave him. He couldn’t, he just— Sam was right. He needed to get a handle on it. If he didn’t, it would tear him apart. It wouldn’t help anyone, let alone Bucky—

Steve didn’t know how long he sat in that conference room, wrestling with his thoughts. He was grateful when Natasha and Thor knocked on the open door.

“The big guy’s heading back to London to meet up with Jane,” Natasha said, patting Thor’s bicep.

“Give my best to Jane,” Steve said automatically, ducking his head to avoid the look that passed between Natasha and Thor.

“I will convey your regards,” Thor said gently. “I will return soon, my friends. And perhaps I will succeed in bringing my Jane with me. She is eager to see our new Facility although she is not convinced that Tony’s laboratory designs will prove adequate to her needs.” He smiled as he shouldered his bag. “Keep faith, my friends.”

#####  _8\. Trust those that you have helped to help you in their turn._

Steve kept faith, but it was hard. Knowing Bucky was safe and with Sam helped, but it wasn’t enough. Steve ached to see him, ached to hear his voice, but Sam played the counselor card again and was adamant: they both needed more time.

So Steve threw himself into building the new team. As the team came together, he was especially pleased that Wanda had agreed to stay. She was so full of regret for her actions, so full of grief. She had lost more than her brother; she had lost her whole world, and she was struggling to adapt to a new one. Steve knew how that felt. (Natasha poked him with a fond finger when he shared that observation. She smiled and said that if anyone could help Wanda re-find her purpose and direction after such a loss, it was a fossil like him. Her eyes were grave and understanding and kind, though, and Steve was so grateful to have Natasha Romanoff as his friend.)

So Steve spent extra time with Wanda, ostensibly to practice using her powers and his shield in tandem, but more often just to give her space and time to talk if she wanted someone to listen. 

Even when he wasn’t practicing with her, Steve had taken to sitting with Wanda while she practiced. Her grace and power were beautiful in ways that his artist’s eye found particularly pleasing. For the first time in a long time, he considered picking up his sketchbook again; his fingers itched to draw the curl of her fingers, the arc of red light from her fingertips splitting the air. He was struck by how different Wanda looked these days, with her hair clean, her heavy eyeliner washed off, her grief and rage softened by time and healing. She looked as young as she really was, far younger than Steve could ever remember being. It felt like he and Bucky had never had the chance to be that young—

Wanda stopped mid-spell and turned to face him, as if she knew where his thoughts had wandered. She studied him, her eyes soft and warm. “Can I tell you a story that my mother told me?” she asked, stepping close to where Steve was sitting with his paperwork spread across his knee. Steve nodded because she could say anything; he would always want to listen. Wanda smiled and picked up his shield. “It was a story my mother’s mother told her, a legend of our people. She said that when a soul is born, seven possible mates are named. Six will make one happy, but if one is truly blessed, he finds the seventh, the soul mate. When he finds his soul mate, he is bound to him forever, even beyond death.” Wanda’s smile dimmed, sadness edging her features, as she turned his shield over in her hands.

Her words echoed in Steve’s mind. He stared at the shield in her hands as if he had never seen it before. He folded his hands together because he could feel them shaking. He could feel his heart beating out of his chest. Something in what Wanda was saying— He suddenly remembered telling Peggy that he was waiting for the right partner—

“What you seek will be found,” Wanda murmured as she handed him his shield. “Do not lose hope. Home is home, and he will be home soon.”

#####  _9\. Trust ghosts. Trust dreams._

That night, Steve dreamed, but it was not a dream wreathed in Wanda’s magic. He dreamed of Peggy as she was during the war, with her dark hair and her dark eyes and her dark red lips, beautiful and perfect as she’d been when he first knew her. In his dream, Steve blinked, and Peggy was no longer that young officer he knew in 1943. She looked as she was now, the formidable Margaret Carter, co-founder and Director of SHIELD, Peggy who had lived her entire life without him. Her eyes were just as dark and beautiful as they had always been, but her hair was a white cloud on her shoulders. Yet she was still perfect, still his best girl, still generous and intelligent and brave.

“The war is over, Steve,” Peggy said, her eyes ineffably kind. “My darling,” she placed her hand on his arm; her skin was white and paper-thin; “We can go home. Imagine it.”

Steve wanted to pull her close. He wanted to dance her across the room. He wanted to kiss her. All around them, couples whirled on the dance floor. Soldiers were sprawled at tables, half-empty glasses of whiskey in front of them, blood dripping down from invisible wounds on to pristine tablecloths.

“You can go home,” Peggy said again, reaching up to curve her hand along his cheek; her palm felt smooth and young. “I promise. Home is waiting for you.” She smiled her brave, glorious smile. “Now, Captain Rogers, haven’t we waited long enough for our dance?”

“Peggy,” Steve sighed, as he drew her into his arms. “I don’t know where home is.”

“So dramatic,” Peggy laughed as she spun away from him. “You do know, Steve” — she spun back into his arms and laid her hand delicately against his chest, just over his heart — “you’ve always known. Home is home, darling. It’s where one starts from.”

Steve stopped in the middle of the dance floor. She was right; Peggy was always right. He looked around the room for Bucky but couldn’t see him anywhere. Bucky’s absence, his not being there, was _wrong._ There was nothing wrong-er in the whole world. Bucky should be there. He promised he wouldn’t leave without Steve. Not without you, he said. He promised—

Steve shook his head to clear it. He looked down at Peggy, who was still in his arms, and cupped his hand over hers in apology. He wanted to focus on her, but all he could think about was that ache deep in his chest, that absence raw and pounding behind his breastbone. He opened his mouth to tell Peggy about it, to apologize or confess, he wasn’t sure which. It would be hard, but Steve Rogers had never backed down in his life (except once, _god,_ Bucky—) 

“Peggy, I need to tell you—”

But Peggy was gone. Steve was alone in the empty ballroom. There were no manic couples, no dying soldiers, no clinking glasses, no music. It was just Steve, alone. He looked down at himself and realized there was a gaping hole, a hole the size of two fists in his chest. Blood was soaking down his uniform, pooling on the floor at his feet. 

Steve woke up.

#####  _10\. Remember your name._

“This is home,” Steve had told Tony, nodding towards the New Avengers Facility, but it hadn’t been. It couldn’t be, not until Bucky was there too.

When Sam came, he brought Bucky with him. As soon as he saw Bucky, Steve felt the world right itself. It was like something vital inside him clicked back into place, like he was whole again. Bucky was skittish and wary, with purple shadows under his eyes. He was still too thin, still didn’t speak much, still hung back from even small groups of people. He wasn't the boy Steve knew before HYDRA, but then Steve wasn’t the boy Bucky had known either. 

They had both changed, both gone through so much — what Bucky had suffered, still suffered, was like poison in Steve’s heart — but by some miracle, some terrible, terrible miracle, they were together. The universe had given him back Bucky, the person Steve valued most in the world, the one person in the world who knew him before everything, who knew who _Steve Rogers_ was, not Captain America, not Cap, not Captain Steve Rogers: just _Steve,_ who grew up skinny and sickly in 1930s Brooklyn. Against all odds and despite his patchwork memory, Bucky remembered who Steve was. _Bucky knew him._ Knowing who Steve was was what had broken through more than 70 years of brainwashing and torture.

And Steve knew who Bucky was; he’d always known.

Home wasn’t Brooklyn; it wasn’t New York City. 

It was Bucky. 

Home _was_ home.

And Steve’s home was, and always had been, Bucky.  
  


##### END

  
  
  


_Home is where one starts from._  
_— T.S. Eliot_

  
_When you reach the little house, the place your_   
_journey started,_   
_you will recognize it, although it will seem_   
_much smaller than you remember._   
_Walk up the path, and through the garden gate_   
_you never saw before but once._   
_And then go home. Or make a home._   
_And rest._   
_— Neil Gaiman_

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is very appreciated. Please reblog on [Tumblr](http://danahid.tumblr.com/post/119210417664/instructions-where-one-starts-from-danahid) if you liked.
> 
> Thanks and credit to Speranza for a much better exploration of the idea of Tony's and Steve's being essentially brothers in her excellent, thoughtful story, [The Real Thing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3803107). (Actually, just plain THANKS to [Speranza](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Speranza/pseuds/Speranza) — and [caughtinanocean](http://archiveofourown.org/users/caughtinanocean) and [togina](http://archiveofourown.org/users/togina/pseuds/togina) and [boopboop](http://archiveofourown.org/users/boopboop%20) and too many writers I could ever name whose fanfic I've enjoyed — for being so inspiring! You gave me the courage to write again, after four years of not writing at all. THANK YOU.)
> 
> Thanks, too, to all the folks on Tumblr who questioned and meta-ed AOU after its release. Credit goes to them for so many of the ideas I played with in this story.
> 
> Section dividers are from the poem [Instructions](http://genius.com/Neil-gaiman-instructions-annotated/) by Neil Gaiman.
> 
> The story Wanda tells Steve refers to the Jewish belief in _bashert_ , which is a Yiddish word that means "destiny". For a thoughtful examination of _basherter/basherte_ and soulmates in Jewish tradition, please see Rabbi Yuter's essay on [The Meaning of "Bashert"](http://www.joshyuter.com/2013/07/22/special-features/yutopias-10th-year-anniversary/the-meaning-of-bashert-in-rabbinic-judaism-and-its-implications-2/).


	2. Appendix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration poem, included in response to request.

**INSTRUCTIONS**

by Neil Gaiman 

* * *

 

 

Touch the wooden gate in the wall you never

saw before.

Say “please” before you open the latch,

go through,

walk down the path.

A red metal imp hangs from the green-painted

front door,

as a knocker,

do not touch it; it will bite your fingers.

Walk through the house. Take nothing. Eat

However, if any creature tells you that it hungers,

feed it.

If it tells you that it is dirty,

clean it.

If it cries to you that it hurts,

if you can,

ease its pain.

 

From the back garden you will be able to see the wild wood.

The deep well you walk past leads to Winter’s realm;

there is another land at the bottom of it.

If you turn around here,

you can walk back, safely;

you will lose no face. I will think no less of you.

 

Once through the garden you will be in the wood.

The trees are old. Eyes peer from the undergrowth.

Beneath a twisted oak sits an old woman. She

may ask for something;

give it to her. She

will point the way to the castle.

Inside it are three princesses.

Do not trust the youngest. Walk on.

In the clearing beyond the castle the twelve

months sit about a fire,

warming their feet, exchanging tales.

They may do favors for you, if you are polite.

You may pick strawberries in December's frost.

Trust the wolves, but do not tell them where

you are going.

The river can be crossed by the ferry. The ferry-

man will take you.

(The answer to his question is this:

_If he hands the oar to his passenger, he will be free to_

_leave the boat._

Only tell him this from a safe distance.)

 

If an eagle gives you a feather, keep it safe.

Remember: that giants sleep too soundly; that

witches are often betrayed by their appetites;

dragons have one soft spot, somewhere, always;

hearts can be well-hidden,

and you betray them with your tongue.

 

Do not be jealous of your sister.

Know that diamonds and roses

are as uncomfortable when they tumble from

one’s lips as toads and frogs:

colder, too, and sharper, and they cut.

 

Remember your name.

Do not lose hope — what you seek will be found.

Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped

to help you in their turn.

Trust dreams.

Trust your heart, and trust your story.

When you come back, return the way you came.

Favors will be returned, debts will be repaid.

Do not forget your manners.

Do not look back.

Ride the wise eagle (you shall not fall).

Ride the silver fish (you will not drown).

Ride the grey wolf (hold tightly to his fur).

 

_There is a worm at the heart of the tower; that is_

_why it will not stand._

 

When you reach the little house, the place your

journey started,

you will recognize it, although it will seem

much smaller than you remember.

Walk up the path, and through the garden gate

you never saw before but once.

And then go home. Or make a home.

And rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is very appreciated. Please reblog on [Tumblr](http://danahid.tumblr.com/post/119210417664/instructions-where-one-starts-from-danahid) if you liked.
> 
> Thanks and credit to Speranza for a much better exploration of the idea of Tony's and Steve's being essentially brothers in her excellent, thoughtful story, [The Real Thing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3803107). (Actually, just plain THANKS to [Speranza](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Speranza/pseuds/Speranza) — and [caughtinanocean](http://archiveofourown.org/users/caughtinanocean) and [togina](http://archiveofourown.org/users/togina/pseuds/togina) and too many writers I could ever name whose fanfic I've enjoyed — for being so inspiring! You gave me the courage to write again, after four years of not writing at all. THANK YOU.)
> 
> Thanks, too, to all the folks on Tumblr who questioned and meta-ed AOU after its release. Credit goes to them for so many of the ideas I played with in this story.
> 
> Section dividers are from the poem [Instructions](http://genius.com/Neil-gaiman-instructions-annotated/) by Neil Gaiman.
> 
> The story Wanda tells Steve refers to the Jewish belief in _bashert_ , which is a Yiddish word that means "destiny". For a thoughtful examination of _basherter/basherte_ and soulmates in Jewish tradition, please see Rabbi Yuter's essay on [The Meaning of "Bashert"](http://www.joshyuter.com/2013/07/22/special-features/yutopias-10th-year-anniversary/the-meaning-of-bashert-in-rabbinic-judaism-and-its-implications-2/).


End file.
